Day oneWe diverted off the dusty road to a trail that goes along the river. (Keep in mind that in border areas of AZ, riverbeds are often used as illegal freeways, so to speak.)
As we enjoyed the beauty of autumn's masterpiece of painted trees against a brilliant turquoise Arizona sky, we hiked along the river trail, taking in the beauty of the golden dried grasses swaying in the breeze.
We began noticing lots of signs of animals; tracks, scat, dens, etc.
...but along the trail were also some other telltale signs...footprints...bare feet? strange imprints from shoes we'd never seen in any stores here.
...then Border Patrol boot prints. (my friend knows those... she's married to a pair).
And lots and lots of cut barbed wire fencing...
But we enjoyed an uneventful walk...
we saw...a man writing down information
and no truck.
a utility guy should have a truck. or a buddy or, I don't know... a tool belt?
We weren't really afraid, but it didn't feel quite right.
After we rounded a curve in the trail where he had stood in the open... he was gone. The taller-than-the-grasses dude vanished like a ghost after he spotted us (we both pack... she carries a .357, I carry a .40 ...I like to think it was a good deturrant)
The trail split... we pulled out our guns. I checked behind us for movement...she checked ahead. It "felt" ok... and we didn't see an sign of movement so we forged ahead.
We didn't talk... but were both wondering to ourselves why in the heck we EVER watch Border Wars. It's like reading Grizzlies of the Glacier, then going to Glacier National Park to wilderness camp in the backcountry with bacon and a frying pan.
No. Not really quite the same.
We live here.
This is our backyard.
...and illegals pour through it all too often. Some with the simple intent to find a better way of life, but others to find new paths to traffic drugs... and they aren't the scouts we grew up with.